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Ilya only decided that Harris had maybe been right when he had suggested that Ilya should look into a dog trainer for Anya when he came home after practice and found her stood in the middle of a pile of wood chippings, the corner of his staircase bannister gnawed away. Ilya was less bothered about the bannister (really, sharp corners were the actual danger, and Anya had been very sensible at removing that risk) and more at the idea that gnawing through his wooden furnishings could do some form of damage to her perfect little teeth. He’d been so careful to dog-proof his house before bringing her home but now found himself existing in a constant state of anxiety at the sight of ordinary, mundane things like his sofa or kitchen cabinets or coffee table.
So, yeah, maybe Harris had been on to something when he had recommended training. And he’d definitely been onto something when he’d recommended finding a professional to train her, both because Anya deserved the very best and because Ilya’s jam-packed schedule didn’t lend itself to any sort of consistent education. Besides, Harris had added, a little snidely, Ilya would get nowhere if he spoiled her rotten over every little thing she did. Ilya felt this was unfair. It was not Anya’s fault that Ilya had the best dog in the whole entire world.
Probably, if Ilya asked, Harris would provide him a list of dog trainers in the area for Ilya to pick the best of. Harris’ family could also probably supply him with names. But that would mean having to admit to Harris that he had been right all along, which Ilya was not willing to do - mostly because Troy would be unbearably smug about his boyfriend, which was ridiculous considering that Troy was stupid.
(This was an uncharitable thought. Ilya was supposed to recognise uncharitable thoughts and redirect them, because Galina thought that distancing himself from the idea of actually liking a person was some convoluted form of self-punishment on Ilya’s part. Ilya wasn’t going to redirect this uncharitable thought because Troy had told him that it was a bit over the top buying Anya little booties for the winter, which was fucking stupid of him. Ergo, Troy was stupid.)
So, Ilya spent much of his time off scouring through the internet - local Facebook groups, Yelp reviews, local businesses on Google Maps. Then, with the handful that he had deemed as suitable, he cross-referenced them with as many reviews and customer testimonies as he could, until he settled on two. Shane Hollander was closest, with a storefront only a twenty-minute drive from Ilya’s house, as opposed to the other, which was forty minutes away. Shane Hollander was also closest to the rink, which could be handy.
Ilya had settled on him without giving himself a chance to reconsider. There’d been several intake forms to fill out, which Ilya had enjoyed, because it meant he got to talk about Anya without someone telling him to focus on the puck, Roz! (Wiebe) or dude, we get it, you love your dog (Dykstra). Ilya thought he could probably talk about Anya for hours and informed her as such as he submitted the forms. Anya, sat on his lap, licked his face with great enthusiasm at the praise, and was still trying to eat Ilya whole when the email confirmation informed Ilya that they had an introductory appointment in a week’s time.
In the meantime, Ilya filed down the corners of his bannisters and his wooden furnishings, hoping that it would discourage Anya from trying her own hand (paw) at any DIY alterations, only to come back after his days at the rink to find that the trail of devastation continued to grow and was not restricted to wooden objects. This he discovered when he had returned to find Anya sat in the shredded remains of his favourite pair of shoes, laces hanging out from the corners of her mouth like a particularly stylish handlebar moustache and a fucking choking hazard.
The appointment could not come soon enough. Ilya had been losing sleep over it all, picturing all the different, terrible things that could happen to Anya, and how they would all be this fault. Harris had been sending him looks whenever their paths crossed and Ilya knew that it meant that the other man was on to him. And he couldn’t even bring himself to care, because he knew that somewhere out there, Anya was chowing down on whichever of Ilya’s possessions she had decided looked that tastiest that day.
It was with great relief that Ilya was able to clip Anya’s leash on, leading her to the back seat of his most sensible car (only the safest for his baby would do) and showering her with lots of praise as she clambered in without protest. Ilya wanted to have at least something to show the dog trainer, and Anya - for all her culinary faults - was loyal to a fault. To me was one of the commands that Anya followed flawlessly, even without Ilya having to verbalise it sometimes. So, yes, maybe Ilya was a little excessive in his praise, but he knew that she was good at it, following behind him and then jumping up onto the back seat and then staying still long enough for Ilya fiddle with the little attachment that secured her harness to his seatbelt.
“You will be Shane Hollander’s best ever student,” he informed her proudly, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head.
Anya panted happily, tongue lolling out from the side of her mouth.
He spent the twenty-minute drive running through all the possibilities of everything that could go wrong, half-convinced that he should give it up now and turn back for home. He and Anya were a pair. She was his dog and he didn’t need anyone sitting in judgement of their bond. She was one of the only good things in his life, and one of the only things that belonged to him - and now he was offering her up, in part, to a stranger. What if she liked him more? What if she realised that Ilya was actually just kind of - nothing? Not able to give her the sort of home that she wanted? Not good enough?
He still hadn’t made up his mind by the time that he reached the address that Shane Hollander’s website had provided to him, a small little storefront with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a very clear, professional sign that announced it to be Hollander’s Dog Servicing. To Ilya, stood outside of it with Anya sat at his feet, it looked like the jaws of Hell itself.
“Shall we risk it?” Ilya asked Anya. “Is very dangerous.”
Anya, his brave girl, yipped, tail beating against the pavement, which Ilya took to signal her readiness. With a click of his tongue, which felt very good and professional, Ilya led her into the building itself, holding open the door so that she could go in before him. Once inside, Anya spun in a loose circle, panting in excitement at the new surroundings. Ilya looked around with her, at the plush rug in the middle of the floor and the long wooden desk that ran across the back wall. There was another door behind the desk, and Ilya imagined that this was where the training and other services that the place offered (like dog grooming) actually occurred. On all the walls were pictures of the animals that had used the service before, and Ilya couldn’t help but analyse their faces as best he could, as if he would be able to glean any sort of unhappiness on them.
He was still considering whether or not he had made a mistake when he heard the door behind the desk swing open and Anya huff excitedly at the new friend coming over to her. Ilya looked up, and knew, immediately, that he had made that mistake he’d been fearing. Because there, coming around the side of the desk, was the most beautiful man that Ilya had ever seen. Which was saying something, because Ilya had seen a lot of beautiful men, and handsome men, and all sorts of men. None of them were like this, looked like the man that was approaching, made Ilya feel the instant spark of attraction as keenly as he was feeling it now.
“Ilya Rozanov?” asked the man, offering out one hand. His voice fell in the now-familiar Québecois cadence that Ilya had steadily been growing used to. “My name is Shane Hollander. And this must be Anya?”
Ilya reached out to return the handshake, feeling his face flush as he fumbled it momentarily. Shane Hollander’s hand was warm and rough and Ilya was imagining how it would feel wrapped around his -
Wrist.
With one foot, Ilya nudged Anya forward, hoping that he would be able to use her to disguise the sudden dizziness that he was feeling, making him clumsy and useless and thinking of nothing but the way that he had felt motherfucking sparks when Hollander had touched him.
Ilya Rozanov was cool. Ilya Rozanov was hot. All women and men wanted Ilya Rozanov, so he was used to the attention that he received. He was could at brushing it off. The touch of a hand would not undo him, like some swooning nineteenth century bride from an Austen novel. Not even if the owner of the hand had warm brown eyes and swooping dark hair and golden freckles muttered over the bridge of his nose and the bones of his cheek. Not even if the owner of the hand had broad shoulders and muscular arms and a perfect face. Not even if the owner of the hand said Ilya’s name in a way that made him want to die.
“Da,” he said. “This is her.”
Hollander crouched to the floor, extending his hand for Anya to give an inquisitive sniff. Thus accepted, Hollander began to scritch behind her ears, seamlessly finding her favourite spot. Anya craned her neck to grant him better access, leg thumping on the floor as though she was half tempted to take over and do it herself but ultimately unwilling to give up the new source of attention she had found.
“Your intake forms said that you want some behavioural training?”
“She is good girl!” Ilya protested. “I just - Well, she eats my furniture when I am at work. Is not good for her little stomach, I think. And my bannisters and shoes and… everything, basically.”
Shane hummed thoughtfully. “When you’re at work?”
“Da. I make sure that she has food and water and toys to play with, and that she has been walked. But is always like warzone when I come back.”
“It could be a lack of stimulation,” Hollander considered, examining Anya with a scrutinising eye, “or it could be that she misses you.”
Fuck if that didn’t break Ilya’s heart.
“I cannot bring her to work with me,” he said, already embarrassed at how close to tears he sounded.
Hollander darted a startled glance upwards. “No, no!” he hurried to assure Ilya. “There’s stuff we can try to help. I’d take it as a good thing, Mister Rozanov, really. Your forms said you haven’t had her long, yeah? But you’ve already made her feel safe and developed such a close bond with her. You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“She maybe saved my life,” Ilya muttered, still blinking furiously.
Hollander’s face softened, head tilting to the side as he looked at Ilya with just as much curiosity as he had looked at Anya before. He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the tips of Ilya’s own. It was a fight to avoid showing how much that one touch affected him, to keep his face as placid and unmoved as possible. Hollander was not nearly as successful, his skin mottling a bright, furious red, and a strange expression crossing his face, twisting his lips into a grimace and furrowing his brows into a frown. He snatched his hand away.
“I’d be happy to work with Anya,” Hollander said, scrambling to regain his composure and decidedly not looking at Ilya. “We can work on some basic training commands, but it’s best to sort out a routine when it comes to a little bit of separation anxiety. We can run through that together though. Does that sound alright to you?”
“It does,” Ilya assured him. He knelt to pet Anya’s head, which had the added benefit of getting him closer to Hollander’s face. It was a very nice face, even panic-struck as it seemed to be now at Ilya’s proximity. But Hollander made no move to back away - in fact, as Ilya watched, Hollander listed almost imperceptibly forward, eyes flickering to Ilya’s mouth and then away.
Ilya’s smile was more of a smirk. “I suppose that this means we will be seeing much more of each other,” he said leadingly.
Shane looked up. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose we will be,” he said.
Anya flopped onto her belly for Shane. It seemed that she had made a new friend. Ilya liked her being social; it was good for her, he thought. Which meant there was nothing for it - he was going have to find some way to keep Shane Hollander around.
For Anya, of course.